What would happen if I picked up this knife and stabbed you right now?

That's what my wife said to me after we'd finished eating the lovely meals she'd prepared

and polished off a bottle of wine.

I deflected with my martial art skills and then flying over to the other side of the room,

get you in a headlock, ask your why you'd stab your amazing husband.

Your martial art skills, please.

You would feel like six months?

That's longer than you have.

Sure, but a knife's a knife.

It's a bread knife.

Still it'd do the job.

In a slightly drunk stupor, she staggered over and put her arms around me.

What reason do I have to stab you?

She smiled.

I reciprocated.

I hope nothing.

As long as you stay on your good behavior, you have nothing to worry about.

She slapped my ass and said she was going to bed.

I woke up at a cold sweat.

Small abstract snippets from my dream world invaded my mind, though any sense that they

carried was soon lost as consciousness rose.

I looked over seeing Sam's sleep soundly next to me, almost purring.

...